Rising of The Dark Lords
by Miroku27
Summary: Neville discovers that anyone can have power, as long as they're willing to pay...
1. Prologue

Neville had always been rather small for a Longbottom – Well, not small as much as short – While still retaining the rather chubby physique that the rest of his family was plagued with. His parents weren't particularly cruel, but neither were they very kind. They just kind of _were_, always working, leaving Neville alone with his thoughts. He was seven years old when the dementors stole them away, never to be seen again. As was the common practice with dementors, his parents were presumed dead, and the case was closed. From then on, Neville was raised in a community of extended family, but his primary guardian was his Gran.

Gran was a nasty old hag, dressed in the most flamboyant clothing allowed, and was a general drunk. Whenever she was sober enough, she would try to make Neville do magic, forcing him into situations where, if magic wasn't used, he would die. Since no magic ever emanated from the sniveling boy's pudgy little body, his grandmother would become angry with him. After each failed attempt (All of which Neville needed to be rescued from), she would drink until her mind fogged up, and then she would brandish her wand at him, screaming in a deranged voice about how he was a failure to the family, a wretched piece of dragon shit, not nearly amounting to the shining symbol of achievement that his father had been. She would then try to curse him, but with a leaden tongue, she would often slur the words, turning even nastier curses on herself. In the mornings following these one-woman brawls, he would be blamed for the welts and singed hair that his Gran had endured, which would mean more time weeding the garden.

Oh, the garden! For Neville, the garden was the only reprieve that he could find in the hellish, miserable life that he was forced to lead. The plants seemed to have an inner life, a voice, and they would only talk to him. After all, he fed them, didn't he? He was the one who kept them alive, kept the small tendrils of Devilsbane from traversing the plains of their realm. He was their leader; he was truly the King of all plants.

Neville knew that everyone thought him meaningless, a microscopic speck of dust in a world of importance, a world of big things. He knew he could never be a part of that world, knew that he would never wield any magic, and that he was doomed to a life of slavery to his grandmother and muggle society. After all, his Gran had been telling him the exact same thing for years; he was just a miserable smudge on the clean glass plate of her life.

Neville knew how pathetic everyone thought he was, knew how much of a burden he was to his Gran and everyone else he knew…

That's why one night, on his 10th birthday, he decided to run away.


	2. Is This Really An Escape?

Don't be afraid dear,

Come inside yourself,

Into the you that you wouldn't know,

The you that you wouldn't want to know.

Welcome my dear,

These are your haunts,

Memories here that you wouldn't know,

The memories that you wanted forgotten.

Why my dear,

Why are you crying?

There's nothing to be afraid of here,

You shouldn't be afraid, except that you scare yourself.

_I was packing my bags when I heard a loud thump from the room upstairs: Gran had finally drunk herself asleep. 'Packing your bags?', questioned a vindictive little voice somewhere near my left earlobe, 'Why, you have but a pillowcase filled with silly thoughts and torn clothes. Why entertain the fancy that you have more than nothing?' I bristled at the voice, knowing full well who it was, for the terrible being taunted my every living moment, in an unending cycle of infinite and perpetual loathing. "I have plenty of good clothes, and my books are anything _but _silly, you foolish thing." _

Don't be afraid dear,

I won't hurt you,

These memories you've hidden won't bite.

Let the world know, let the world see.

_With that, I stood up and threw my pillowcase over my shoulder, and stalked out of the room. As I closed the door into another chapter of my life, I enjoyed a brief sense of relief. Oh, the joy to be gone from this evil pit of writhing guilt and despair that claws at my soul, the pride at being able to leave of my own design. I controlled my own self now, no one could feign to be any part of me. My decisions were mine! Nothing could empty these victorious thoughts from my head, nothing as part of this world was going to drown my spirits as Drink to my Gran, not nearly. Then it started to rain._

You know dear,

Know that you are nothing,

As the nothing you are bleeds from your wounds,

Ah, my dear, you are considering me, aren't you?

"Be quiet, beast, I have me, I have myself, and though I may not be good enough for the world, I am good enough for my own purposes." Why am I even talking to this creature? Why am I trying to reason with empty air? It's all in your head, Neville, talking to yourself won't get you anywhere, walking will.

_For the next hour, I trudged uneventfully through the dark streets of London, hoping to find no one, for my journey would be made alone. Grasping at the mist that rolled across the cobblestones, I found some shred of evidence, some faint idea, left hanging in the air. The ghosts of past were loitering, hovering in the otherwise innocent, fair night air. I could feel it, a presence, as if something were about to appear, but for a good while, nothing did._

My dear wonders,

Does he not wonder,

Why this voice he doesn't know is taunting him,

I'll always be with you, quiet, calculating your pain.

_I'll admit I was scared, there's no denying that. When you are shivering on a warm summer evening, alone on an empty street, and trying to hold your breath, there's no escaping the fact that if you heard a noise, you'd run like a little schoolgirl. But why was I scared? Nothing in the mystery-shrouded mists was going to whisper me the answer, so on I walked._

Keep searching dearest,

For you know that you won't find me,

You know that no matter how hard you try,

You'll never stamp me out, not that you want to.

_Come on Neville, there's nothing there to be afraid of. Just keep on walking now, there's a long way to go. That's when I realized that I didn't know where I was going, didn't have a clue. What had I planned on doing before I left? Did I even think if I had anywhere to go? I don't, I can't go to the family for help, they'll just give me back to Gran. I felt ready to break down there on the road. No! If I was going to get anywhere, then I had to do it on my, crying about it wasn't going to get me there faster._

I'm your connection,

I'm the high that you get,

That high you achieve from the blade of a knife,

I make you feel more alive than you actually are.

_I dredged through more puddles, more muck on my way to Nowhere. The streets weren't so inviting anymore, hell, the world wasn't inviting anymore. Before, living-if you could call it that- with Gran, I had had nothing to see, so I had made myself blind. Here in the real world, things were wetter, meaner, wicked. In my lifetime, I had nothing really to live for, so I bound my heart and soul in the growths of a garden, one that I now knew would turn dark with the season, dark with the weight of the next year's snow. I had nowhere to go, so I wasn't trying to get there in a rush. There wasn't much for me to think about, so I thought about life along the way._

I'm your reality dear,

There's nothing you can do,

You wouldn't betray your own temptations,

You don't even try to deny that I'm here anymore.

_Early on in this dead, disgusting walk of realizations, I had decided that the world was an evil place, now it seemed worse. I splashed through puddles filled with blood, dead people, filled with knives, bullets, and disease littered the curbside. Their ghostly pale faces assured that their lives had never been pleasant or comfortable. Many of them had never known the touch of a compassionate hand, only the slums of the great city London._

You know it dear,

You know that no one cares,

That no one is going to save you now,

You've been pulled in too deep to wriggle out of this one.

_I stopped, realizing that I was near the edge of the city. I need to find someplace to sleep. I slowly walked over to one random alley, and scoped out the contents. Trash, a dumpster filled to the brim with who-knows-what, and what I presumed to be a sleeping vagrant sprawled on the ground at the foot of a chain-link fence. I presumed because I didn't want to think about the reality of death, grotesquely splayed again before my eyes. _

_There wasn't anything special about this alley; it was just another hovel for the rot and filth of the city. Layers of grime amassed over many years, hid the red brick, lain there by the founders of the city long ago. There were roots to this city, magic from better periods, when Gods weren't criticized for their actions, when underlings like humans never rose above themselves, stayed below the level that only evil ones wanted to reach. When magic ran rampant and unchecked, and there were more miracles than disasters, when the magicians were many and humble, not believing themselves better. Everyone was on an even level, everyone was happy. _

_Well, not everyone._


	3. Solve The Riddle

_A teenager named Tom Riddle, a name to fit the character. He was a mystery, an orphan, and he became a great wizard. Remember, a wizard doesn't have to be good to be great. Some say that Riddle used to be a good, kind boy, one who opened doors for people, helped old ladies across the street; all the good stuff a little boy was supposed to do. These people never knew him well; they saw him from the eyes of normal, regular people. The counselors at the orphanage didn't know what to make of him when he came in to discuss life. He had such strange ideas about the world. He once tried to convince his caretaker that he was a god. The only reason the counselor saw him for this was because the caretaker was found groveling at the feet of the 10-year-old. Needless to say, the orphanage would never tell any potential adopters about Riddle's amazing powers. Still, Riddle was lonely all of his life. This was because those people who tried adopting him always discovered some strange aura of malice surrounding the child. They would spend an hour with the boy and leave the orphanage shivering and clammy, as though they had passed through some terrifying mental struggle. This was in some part true. Riddle wanted so much to belong to a family, wanted love, and sought those who would care for him so fervently, that he would ensnare the simple minds of those lonely people that came looking for a child's companionship. He didn't do this on purpose, it was his own inner magic forcing him to control others. Sometimes he would hear voices in his head, enraged and slimy whispers of long-dead pasts, trying to claw their way back into the surface. Death is likened to a deep pool, the voices whispered to him once, There is a coldness in your arrival, and then the quiet creeps in. It grips you, searing your flesh and tearing it from your dead and tired bones. You can try to ease the pain in screans, but they don't do very well. There is no release from this pain, the pain will follow you from this life to mine, my deep pool. God! God has forsaken this place, there is no God to sire a barren wasteland like this dreary obstinate pool. It drags me down further, and soon I will not speak to you, innocent, anymore. Give my message to the world, that all those who survive in faith and hope for a release from the slow, wandering ordeals of life, be warned! This was once a heaven but God is a mortal! No one is doomed to Hell, for the Grims no longer stay their task. All are sorted into the Upper Realms, and those that should have been punished are running rampant in this pool of souls. Live as long as you can, Tom Riddle, for the Heaven that your religions envision was destroyed when God and his angels fell. The Grim grows impatient, and I feel his pull on me, I must leave!_

_Riddle never heard the voice again, but he heeded its message. He was always looking, not for answers, but for a way, a way to live forever. Riddle was a dreamer, and he had long considered the fundamental truths of life, not ever concluding until he felt he was unshakably correct. He came to believe the following things: In life, there is only oneself, and trust was the basis of futility. There was no supreme being, that the being was mentally created, and that he was smarter, better, and stronger than anyone else._

_When he realized his magical powers, they consumed him, drawing a hard path for the future. He carved his name in the agonized screams of innocent charmers, good people, and great sorcerers. He was a legend before the age of 24, feared and loathed by all who knew of him. His name was never uttered, and mothers were even afraid to scare their children into bed with the mention of You-Know-Who._

_He took the lives of all people, it didn't matter to him. He knew what he was, knew the horrible creature that he had become, and this hurt and angered him even more. It drove him to new magic, evil magic, powerful magic. Before long, he was nearly immortal, doing as he pleased, flirting with the Grim, who was furious at the arrogance of a once mortal, sniveling little rodent. _

_He took his need to be loved and destroyed it, mentally preparing himself for all of his emotional failures, and his tangible successes. He now saw other people as chess pieces, gently but firmly caressing their minds until he felt they were ready for use. If the shell were a considerably prominent politician, then Riddle would use his gentile brain to coerce certain laws to be passed. The nature of these laws were generally child related, allowing for easier adoptions, and lenient punishments to kidnappers. _

_Riddle had found a way to live forever, but after his fall as Lord Voldemort, he needed to find a suitable body to possess. He foresaw this as a child while attending Hogwarts, a prestigious magicians' university, and set these laws in motions to aid his cause. _

_Now he had found the boy, after 12 years of waiting. What was once the great Lord Voldemort seethed through the darkness, and as Hogwarts came into view through the Forbidden Forest, whispered evilly, "Neville…"_


End file.
